"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but
heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Monday, April 17, 2006

And From Now On, He Shall Be Called "Mahky Mahk"

Welcome to Boston, dear sir.

I do believe Mr. Mark Loretta has earned himself a nickname. I would like to put "Mahky" on the table since it takes a feat of such wonderment and aplomb to get yourself a nickname in Boston. And I'd say a walk-off home run on Patriots Day, when most of the Massachusetts-employed folks were sitting with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, counts. I especially loved the fact that nearly everyone - and don't lie, you did it too - ignored the fact that Loretta was at bat and saw only that Papi was on deck. And we all said, either out loud or to ourselves, "Mark, just get on base. Do like Youks did. Hustle your ass off and get on base so Papi can do what he does." For the walk off is Ortiz's game. That's his bread and butter. But in a game where he'd already hit two homers - both to tie the game at different points - and narrowly missed a third (goddamn Ichiro), how much more can we really ask of the guy? Luckily, thanks to Mark Loretta, we didn't have to.

Marianne and I, in a moment of pure Imaginary Baseball World brilliance, realized that Mark Loretta is clearly an amatuer entymologist. Look at him, he just looks like a guy who spends his off days carefully pinning the wings of butterflies to display boards and painstakingly cataloguing the difference between an African and an Asian dung beetle. (Note: I don't even know if African or Asian dung beetles actually exist. Sam?). And so, in order to inspire him to get on base and let Papi do his thing - or so we thought - we promised him a shiny, new, green beetle. Clearly, he thought this was a good tradeoff. I'm just sayin', the Imaginary Baseball World power cannot be denied, y'all.

Oh, and for those of you who were concerned, when Remy said, "Looks like Varitek might be limping a bit there," I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, pulled the drawstring closed so that I could not see or breathe, and proceeded to whimper while lying on the floor in the fetal position for a good five minutes. There were witnesses, most of whom did not find this behavior curious. However, there were a few unfamiliar with my baseball sensibilities who clearly thought I was having my much-anticipated break with reality. It'll happen eventually, I've no doubt. Just not today. It was not to be. And thank goodness for that.

I would also be remiss if I did not thank my readers who stood up for me during the whole plagiarism fiasco. Looks like it's been taken care of. I guess imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but, call my crazy but if I come up with a stupid joke about Jake Plummer's Boogie Nights mullet, I want it attributed to me. So thanks, kids. You guys are truly the best.